


We Have Our Truths

by TheMetalVetruvian



Series: We'll Always Have San Francisco [1]
Category: Marvel
Genre: 40s AU, M/M, NSFW, Period-Typical Homophobia, Steve is being media trained by the Navy, They're in san francisco, Tony Stark Has A Heart, and they're not good at it, just a reminder
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-10
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2018-12-13 20:36:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11767881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMetalVetruvian/pseuds/TheMetalVetruvian
Summary: "Tony always stays. He never leaves first, and Steve feels guilt that quickly turns into fear fear fear."If you get the blue ticket, you're done. Not dishonorably or honorably discharged, just done. You go home with a brand, as something "other than". But everyone knows what you did. So he hides who he is under his uniform, because no one can ever know.Steve needs a moment of reprieve in a time of war, and he gets comfort in the heart of San Francisco. Oh, and from an engineer: Tony Stark.And then Steve slips up.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sabrecmc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabrecmc/gifts), [mythaeology](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mythaeology/gifts).



> This is for a fancast I did of David Gandy and Guy Madison as Tony Stark and Steve Rogers on Tumblr! I hope you all enjoy. I have many more stories planned for this, so I would bookmark the series to see any updates :)

They’re discreet and that’s enough for Steve. Well, it  _can_  be enough for Steve. He wants to rip off his shirt and scream to the bloody heavens, but people will stare. He’s sure his face is obvious enough, curse his Irish skin. No one can know. Because he’s wearing his Navy uniform, strutting down the San Francisco streets by Tony Stark’s side.

God, he’s obvious.

_Tony Stark_ is obvious. But Lord help him, he can’t stay away. Every Sunday, Steve forsakes church ( _church!_ ) to come here. With him. Tony Stark. Who wants to buy him the good stuff, but Steve insists on 15 cent hot dogs and the 10 cent coffee that he can pay for. They buy cheap liquor next door and head up, separately, to their rented room.

Each time Steve walks in, he’s always first, he wonders how many men have walked in with the same intent. How many servicemen? The reception desk has a signed picture of Gladys Bentley, and Steve’s heard through the grapevine that this particular hotel is… uh… gay-friendly. Well, friendly enough for the past few weeks at least.

He can’t say he’s not terrified. He feels exposed in his uniform, but there’s an exercise at base he has to sprint to at 3 o’clock sharp. And he can’t stay away, one look from Tony drags him right back to where they started: a shitty motel room, half-drunk and handsy.

Tony always stays. He never leaves first, and Steve feels guilt that quickly turns into  _fear fear fear_.

Tony wants and wants and wants with his eyes and Steve has never been sure if he can give.

“I’ll never get tired of this sight,” Steve turns and Tony’s standing there, in the doorway, coat in his hands. He takes a step, tosses the coat onto the bed and shuts the door with a nudge from his foot, “Like a breath of fresh air.”

Steve’s on him, his composure shattered in seconds. He presses him against the door, peeling off the top of his uniform and letting it crumple to the floor. They kiss, it’s quick, and frantic, and like so many other things in Steve’s world. Steve pulls at Tony’s shirt, and the buttons strain, “Come,” and leads him back towards the bed.

Tony’s hands wrap around his back, and they pull him to his chest, “What’s the rush, huh? Take your time.” He turns them around and lays out on the bed, legs slightly apart, inviting. He begins to undo the buttons of his shirt with one hand, eyes heavy and never leaving Steve’s, “C’mon Steve,  _savor me_.”

He will never be able to understand how Tony can be so composed, at all times. Even in public, on their way to here, there’s no cracks in his mask. His eyes are imploring, and Steve has never tried so hard to be resistant in his life. He kneels one leg on the bed, in between Tony’s, “I’m sorry… I don’t have a lot of time today.” He moves a hand down, hooks it under Tony’s bent leg, and pulls it around his hip. Then, he presses his hips low, and he hears Tony’s breath hitch. God, what he wouldn’t do to see him lose it, “That’s it, baby…” and nips below Tony’s left ear, feeling his body go pliant and soft beneath him.

This feeling, the one that wraps around his heart and tugs, makes him crazy. Tony’s the only one that can give him this. There are no other men on the face of this Earth that can provide for him like this.

Steve feels selfish.

He pulls back, eyelids heavy and breathing rough, and he sees Tony. His steady composure cracked, his eyes soft, mouth parted, and Steve sees him. Then, Tony’s eyebrow raises and Steve’s world turns, “Why are you looking at me like that?” He laughs, and the look in his eyes ground Steve into this moment; like nothing existed outside this room, there was no war calling him to his uniform, no hate, no worries.

Steve thinks that loving Tony might be worth the blue ticket. This place is no Brooklyn, but he’s met veterans discharged here, many that stay in shame, eventually finding family and community. In a perfect world, that would be enough. But they have San Francisco for a few months, until Steve is flown to Europe, and that gives him time. Maybe by then Tony would be enough.

Steve’s gaze has wandered off, and when Tony grabs his chin to bring his attention back, Steve knows that Tony can read him like a book. He’s always had that ability. It’s why they’re here. Tony’s hand leaves his face and trails down between his pecks. It steadies him somewhat.

“Back at it, Captain. You haven’t got all day.” He winks, and a laugh bursts suddenly from Steve’s chest. He’s kissing again at Tony’s neck, feeling his partner hum with pleasure and encouragement.

When he leaves later, Tony is on his stomach, asleep, sheets draping over the curve of his hips. Usually, he’s awake when Steve leaves, so everything feels off. Steve just somehow knows that the next time they meet they’ll need to talk. The thought leaves his knees shaking.

When he leaves the hotel, he glances down both sides of the street. No cops. No servicemen. The knot in his chest stays and he prays before sprinting to his ship without a moment to spare.


	2. Playing Marionette

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, look at that. The last update was in August of last year? I’m so responsible!  
> Sorry to let this child go abandoned for so long. It’s funny how your parents divorce affects you, even when you’re an adult.  
> Buuuuuut on another note: The story is plotted out. It won’t be too long. My mind is stuck in short stories for now. I went to college for film (which I just graduated from!!) and every story I ever wrote was MAX fifteen minutes long, but I’m trying to break out of that. Regardless, a short story is not a bad story :) Thanks to those who stuck around, I’m sorry i haven’t updated. I'll try to do better :)  
> But this chapter is around 3K!  
> Small note: I'm not in the military. I have family that is, but I still try to keep things vague after I do my research so I don't offend anyone or get things wrong. All mistakes in this are my own, I have no beta, and at times I can be very stupid.  
> Thanks again to those who have inspired/re-inspired me. If you could let me know what you think in the comments below I would really appreciate it.

The bunk they gave him at the start of his training was cramped, the metal walls were thick and imposing. Now though, he doesn’t share his room with four to six other men. So his new-found privacy gives him time to do more personal things, when he’s not running about San Francisco at Tony Stark’s heels.

The thing about San Francisco is that it has all the temptations of New York, with ten times the danger for gay servicemen. The danger is enough to send ice through Steve’s veins, but the Navy’s stationed him in San Francisco for a couple of months, so San Francisco he will stay. 

Steve pulls out a sheet of paper and lays it on his desk. He puts his pen to it, taps it a few times. And eventually writes at the top:

_Tony,_

He pauses. Okay, so _if_ he gets the blue ticket, he’s done. It doesn’t matter if he is a Captain. His life, his career, is over. They’d send him back to Brooklyn, not on an honorable or dishonorable discharge, but “unfit for service”. A disgrace. Exposed. 

_If_ he gets caught, it’s important to remember the _if_.

_I’ve received my new bunk, no word on when they’ll provide on-land accommodations but here we are. I’ll let you know if I hear anything, it should make seeing each other easier._

He pauses again, eyes drawn up in thought. How can he write letters that are romantic enough to convey to Tony, yet secret enough to hide from the Navy? 

The Navy doesn’t just slap a label on your forehead that says; “Sodomy” and send you home, they give you a discreet blue paper that suggests that you have an illness. Steve’s seen it in effect, mainly towards African American servicemen, to undermine their ability and rank.

_Waiting until Sunday to see you makes me crazy, and I’m sure I must go to confession at some point. Were you able to step into a church without getting us both kicked out I would bring you. But the things I do for you, I would do for no other._

Steve’s hand grips his pen, and he hears the metal grind against his fingertips. He absent-mindedly makes a swooping notion with his pen, a doodle, trying to draw his mind away from his thoughts. 

_Were we in Brooklyn I would simply bring you to my home. Bucky’s in London with the crew, so he won’t talk your ear off, like I know he wants to. When I’m shipped off maybe you can come and see me. I’ll be in London at some point, to gather my men I’m sure. And I know your business takes you there sometimes. Perhaps something could be arranged._

_But maybe the war will be over by then, after my second tour. Maybe the Navy, or Army, or the Military in general will have no use for me by then. Maybe I can go wherever I want, do whatever I want._

_The thoughts I entertain for you, they keep me awake at night._

A court martial. 

The thought makes his hands quake.

They don’t do court marshals for blue discharges in a time of war. But everyone still knew what it meant: “Un-honorable Conduct” with no opportunity to defend oneself in court. Everyone knew what you did. No one talks about it, but they know. You committed the crime of being black. Or, in Steve’s case, loving another man.

One man in particular, but he’s not too sure about that fact yet. Thinking about Tony makes his chest swell, with passion and fear. He second guesses himself, every time they meet, and wonders if it’s the thought of getting caught that excites him or the look in Tony’s eyes when they have a moment alone. 

Tony’s always so, so patient.

In another life, Tony could have been a Saint for how patient he is, but religious duties never suited Stark. Tony is filled with too much life, too much creativity and thirst for _more_ that he could never dedicate himself to the church. Or, possibly, settling down.

Steve’s head lists to the side, his pen tapping on the paper, soiling it with ink near the edges and watching it bleed into the page.

_I have a few more weeks here, in SF. While I plan to make the most of it, the media training they have me on cuts more into my time than I would like. I am trained, but all they see is a poor dumb soldier who needs coaching. A dancing monkey, a marionette, they use to sell war bonds. Dumb Captain America can’t speak in front of a camera to save his life. And really, I can’t. Just one more reason to wish I was with you more, you would know exactly how to coach me._

_My men are doing well at war, and I’m beginning to think they really don’t need their Captain after all. All the more reason to leave me behind, so I can stay in San Francisco and drink wine with you._

_Can we meet earlier this Sunday? I will be waiting at the usual place at 0900, I hope you can stop by._

His eyes dart to the clock next to his bunk, it is 5:47 AM, and Steve needs to leave in thirteen minutes if he is to send the letter and then meet Fury on time for a debrief at 0700.

_Don’t forget me,_

_Steve._

Folding up the letter, he slips it into an envelope and quickly jots down Tony’s address. Then, he runs out the door in search of a mail deposit.

________

 

Steve has prayed to God more times this month than he has his whole life. His life is a fucking mess and it’s all because of that damned Tony Stark, lord help him. 

Sprinting down the sidewalk, Steve can feel his duffel snag on the edges of elbows and purses and all he can do is apologize in a breathy rush as he barrels down the concrete. He told Tony 0900 and guess what, he’s late. Of course he’s late. His one morning off and not only did he _not_ go to church, he will also likely miss Tony. God preserve him, the serum in his bones can barely withstand the stress. 

“Hello Marcia!” he shouts in a rush as he opens the door to the motel, bypasses the front desk, and takes two stairs at a time to the fourth floor. Room 407, he tries the lock, shoves the door open, takes a breath and-

Tony sits at the edge of the bed, a glass of wine in one hand and he’s frozen, glass just below his lips and his eyes are wide. They pause for a second, and Steve feels like all of his anxious energy ghosts past him and flies out of the open window. Tony grins, lists his head to the side, and laughs.

“Hey, babe.”

Steve, slightly out of breath, drops his duffel and leans back against the wall, sliding down until he’s sitting on the floor. He laughs too, bewildered and high on adrenaline, “Good morning, Tony.”

Tony takes his sip of wine, “Good morning, indeed.” He stands from the bed, takes one step and shuts the door with his foot. With him standing in such close proximity, Steve can smell whatever cologne he’s got on his neck and wrists. Steve’s eyes avert upwards to the ceiling, lets out a breath, and very pointedly says to God: _thank you._

In the next second, he wraps his hand around Tony’s wrist and pulls him down into his lap. Tony chides him with a playful ‘tsk’ as he tries to balance his wine so as not to spill it, before landing heavily on Steve. 

Steve nuzzles himself into Tony’s neck, pressing kisses here and there as he wraps his arms around him. When Steve hugs Tony, he can feel Tony melt into him, every time. He’s had hugs before, loads of hugs, but he can never get used to the way Tony’s hugs makes him feel.

“I had a glass,” Tony started, setting his wine off to the side, “because I thought I had been stood up. Imagine my surprise to see you bursting through the door! Quite humorous, thank you for saving me from such heartache.” He presses a kiss to Steve’s forehead and runs his fingers through the short locks of blonde hair, “But I thought of your face, how sad it would look had I left when you’d really just been running late. I never want to be the cause of such a look.” 

Their eyes meet, and they both seem content to just take each other in for a couple of moments. Settle in. Unwind from a whirlwind morning. 

“Oh!” the sudden gasp from Steve’s lips has them both jumping, “I brought you something!”

As Steve reaches over to grab his duffel bag, Tony backs off of his lap, obtains his wine, and sits at the edge of the bed. Steve is content to sit where he is, and pulls out a bundle of blue and red fabric, “You’re not gonna believe this.”

Hesitant only for a moment, he sees Tony reach forward with one hand to help hold up the material. As he does this, it unfolds to reveal a stark white star and bright red gloves and boots fall to the ground with such a finality that the room seems completely silent after. When Steve peers around the fabric, he sees Tony gnawing at his lip and a dimple form on his left cheek as he tries not to laugh. 

And then it’s too much to handle, and he bursts out into laughter, “Are you fucking _serious_?”

Steve holds the offending garment to his chest, his face a mixture of mock astonishment and badly concealed laughter, “What, you don’t like…” He holds up one sleeve, “fluffy, bright blue, cotton-armor that screams ‘Democracy!’ with every stitch?” Tony curls in on himself with laughter, a hand over his face as he tries to control himself.

He grabs the hood and pulls it over his head, thumbing at the white wings that adorn his ears. Steve stands, hands on his hips, and proudly declares, “Who’s strong and brave, here to save the American Way?” Tony’s wheezing, barely able to hold up his wine so he sets it on the nightstand before dissolving into a fit of laughter again, but Steve can see tears drip from his eyes as he struggles to breathe with every laugh. He’s unable to even look at Steve. When he does, his laughter begins anew and he falls back against the bed.

“ _Steve! Oh my God!”_

“What, you don’t find this sexy?” Steve crawls onto the bed, on top of Tony, and plants his hands on either side of his head, “C’mon, darlin’, I get to punch _Hitler_ in this silly getup.” He leans his head down and presses kisses to Tony’s collar bone. The mask is slid off of his head and Steve looks up. He’s never seen Tony with this much mirth in his eyes before. The tears running dry down his cheeks, _giggling_. If it was possible, he could have fallen in love all over again. Tony throws the mask to the side, and runs his hands through Steve’s hair again.

“Guess again, loverboy.” and kisses him like his life depended on it.

_________

 

The thing about media training is that it really doesn’t help much. If you suck at acting, no amount of training is going to help you. You could put as many cue cards as you want on the back of your shield, but you still know it’s not going to work out. You’ll stand under the hot gaze of spotlights, women twirling and singing around you, but you’ll still feel just as small and just as weak and unprepared as the days before. And that’s really how Steve is feeling right now, in this silly little getup. It sure is great to be serving your country by dancing in tights and holding a flimsy metal shield.

_Yes, this is exactly what I signed up for._

Punching Hitler helps, a little. They run through the same thing every day, to prepare for the rest of the tour, and Steve and Hitler have become somewhat friends. Well, the actor that _plays_ Hitler. His name is Alfred, and he’s honestly a nice guy. But Steve had a feeling that Alfred won’t be writing home to his family about this, just like Steve would love to forget this embarrassing display of USO patriotism. They share a cigarette one night, when neither of them are required to be on the boat so they stand on the dock, and talk about Alfred’s wife. Her family fled Poland back in ’37, before the invasion. Now, Steve thinks, Poland would seem almost recognizable to her. He wonders how Poland would be after the war. Would Nazi’s remain? Sans armbands and authoritarianism? Would men still hunt down her people should they try to return?

Smoke drifts into his eyes and he flicks it away before handing it back to Alfred, and lays a heavy hand on his shoulder. Alfred turns to him and says, “It doesn’t matter, does it? Homes have been taken and destroyed, all in the name of some nation that thinks they have a right to it. Hitler does it. Mussolini does it. Stalin. Churchill, England, made their mark on the world by doing it. It doesn’t matter. The States will do it too. We already are! Look at the camps! We have, what, fourteen “assembly centers” here? In California?” The smoke drifts back into his face and he bats it away with annoyance before throwing the cigarette into the water below, sizzling for a second before it sinks into the sea, “Democracy my arse. Humans like to think we know shit about running countries and what it means to be human, but we know fuck all.”

Alfred shoves his hands deep into his pockets and sways on his feet, eyes glaring at the reflection of their ship below, “Fuck all! If I ever make it out of this fucking war I’m going to change that.” 

Alfred could be a politician, if he makes it out of the war. He would be a good one, Steve thinks, if there was such a thing. 

_________

 

“Italy?”

Tony opens the window with a loud squeal, eyeing the rusty parts holding it together so it doesn’t fly into the streets below. The breeze is cold against his neck and he quickly turns away to stare at Steve, who sits on the bed with his hat in his hands. 

He watches Steve clench his hat in his fists and stare down at his shoes, “I thought we had more time. I’m sorry, Tony.”

“It’s not your fault.” He says, automatically. Because really, it wasn’t. Steve would never get to decide where he wants to go, and how he’ll get there. He won’t decide on the gun that goes in his hands, or choose the men who have his back. But good people gravitate towards him, so he’ll be looked after, and that is something Tony has to believe, “Why Italy?”

“You know I can’t tell you that.”

But he didn’t know that. It hits him then, how much they’ve left unsaid. They don’t talk about work, they never felt the need to. While Tony doesn’t believe their whole arrangement was about blowing off steam, he’s still surprised that they can’t talk about it. Tony is a Senior Government Offical contracted by the United States Army, and Steve is a Captain. Secrecy is something he hadn’t anticipated on Steve’s side.

“Okay. That’s fine,” he eases, sitting on the edge of the bed. He grabs the hat from Steve’s hands and sets it aside, flattening his hand on the top to ease the wrinkles, “How long?”

“Wednesday.”

“Jesus.” Tony puts his head in his hands, “Front lines?”

“Yeah.”

If possible, he sank further into his hands and let out a deep sigh. Tony could feel the nerves vibrating in his fingers and his diaphragm threatens to push his lungs through his throat. Steve wraps his arms around him (of course he does, the big softie), and Tony leans into his strong shoulder. Bees buzz inside of Tony’s head, making it impossible to think about much of anything. He couldn’t even attempt to sort his emotions into any sort of category right now, even if he tried. His stomach sank down to his boots, and the blood rushes from his hands to join the party.

When he looks up at Steve, they share a moment of uncertainty. A moment of their lives completely taken out of their hands. Tony allows himself to look scared for only a few seconds, before deciding he’s had enough. He grabs Steve about the cheeks and pulls him into a kiss, trying to convey everything he’s feeling into a few blissful and nervous moments. 

_I will never leave you behind_ , he wants to say. _I will follow you anywhere_. His hands slide up into his hair and he clenches, refusing to let go of this moment. _I love you_. They detach, and Tony can’t take his eyes off of Steve for even a second.

Instead, he says, “Please tell me they aren’t sending you to fight in that outfit.”


	3. Ships Passing in the Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony makes a decision. Steve prepares for war.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter! Please feel free to leave a comment to let me know what you think, it really helps a lot :)
> 
> Also, in the endnotes is an explanation of NCDU's and an explanation of what is happening in the war at this point in time that wasn't explained in the story. I feel like in the US schools (in my experience) they don't explain what happened to Italy after they switched sides, or how German forces remained there. They usually say "Mussolini was deposed! And then died! That's it!" so there's some explanation below :)

“Can you believe the Navy almost abolished aviation back in 1919?” Tony remarks with his hands curled into his hips as he proudly stares upward at the hull of his ship, the carrier wider than his vision when he stands so close, “and now look at us.” He takes a moment, drinking in the sight, before slapping the hull with finality, like patting a friend on the shoulder, “Okay. Pep, commence the final checklist. Send her out. Oh, and have you looked into that thing I mentioned the other day?”

“Okay, Tony. And yes, I looked into that ‘thing’.”

“And?”

“And what, Mr. Stark? You want me to put a hold on _your_ government contracts, take the angry calls meant for you, deliver nothing, while you gallivant off to an Italian war zone?” Tony finally turns around to meet her attention but finds himself waylaid by her appearance. Her hair, normally carefully composed in red, even waves is now brought up at the base of her head, in a bun. Her hair reminds him of fire some days, it’s very different to see it all wrapped up.

“I’ve never seen your hair in such a way, Pep. I quite like it.” He gives her a friendly smile before taking off his hat to give her a bow, “I would not dare leave you with the anger of military men unarmed. So,” he puts the hat back on the top of his head, makes sure it’s snug, “I’ve given you primary command over my current contracts on this side of the States. Congratulations, Ms. Potts. You are now the acting CEO of Stark Industries.” 

Above head, thunder cries out to signal a storm. The light mist in the air gets a little harder. When he takes her hand, she simply squeezes it so hard that escape is impossible and pulls him forward, “Stop this. You don’t know what you’re doing.” 

“I do.” he says immediately, covering their hands with his free one to try and ease her grip, “Damn, Pepper. Here you are, already with the grip of a CEO like you were born for it.”

Finally, she releases him, and he shakes out his hand in a dramatic fashion. Angry red and white lines mark where her grip nearly took his hand off.

“They won’t listen to me.”

“They’ll have to.” He moves his hand onto her shoulder and looks out at the port. The wind picks up, rain forming and dropping, and the seagulls hover around light fixtures as they try to land for stability, “I have somewhere I need to be. I’m still working, please expect nothing less. Everything I do will be sent to you, and you can execute it.” With a squeeze of his hand, he lets go of her and looks for his car, which should be arriving soon, “I trust no one else but you. Get in touch with Rhodey, he will be a friendly face to have around when discussing military contracts. Carol Danvers too. She’s a good one.”

She doesn’t reply to him, simply looks up at the ship that they built with wide eyes. She clenches her fists, sighs, and lifts the clipboard up to her hip to write something down, “I’m naming the ship.”

“I would expect nothing less, Ms. Potts.”

The silence this time is welcome. He pulls open an umbrella while they wait, tilting it over Pepper's head to ensure she remains undisturbed. Beneath the seagulls screaming in the air, he hears tires pull at the wet pavement and a short burst of a horn, “That’s our cue.” He takes a step but is pulled back by a hand gripping his elbow. 

“Tony. I got you a flight to England. Work your contacts. But Please. _Please._ Don’t go to Italy.” She implores him, but her grip isn’t as strong as it was before. She knows it’s useless, but she’ll still _try_. Tony likes that about her.

“I have to, Pep.”

“I know you miss him.” He tries to look away, and she palms his jaw and makes him look at her, “I know you’re hurt.” Happy opens the doors for them, standing under his small black umbrella. Pepper still has her grip on him and prevents him from leaving.

“I am.” He concedes, feeling sadness leak from his chest at the honest admission, “He hasn’t written me back.”

“He could be dead, Tony.” She whispers, trying to be gentle, but it makes Tony jolt anyway. Pepper cradles his head in her hands, “You have to prepare yourself for that.”

“I know.” He nods, unable to meet her eyes, “I know.” Glancing over to the car, he sees Happy trying to busy himself and not look like he’s overtly eavesdropping.

A kiss is pressed gently into his forehead, and he closes his eyes at the feel of it. He savors the feeling of comfort and resolutely decides that it’s enough.

“I’ll be honest Pepper, you were going to be CEO one day anyway.” He looks over to his driver and remarks, “Thanks Happy!” who nods, and waits for them in the car, “Shall we?”

She doesn’t say anything about his sudden change in mood, and Tony finds relief in that. They share a simple smile, and he leads her to the car and holds the door open for her as she climbs in, following soon after.

As he’s closing the door to shut out the rain, he remarks, “Would you consider the name USS Warmachine? For posterity, of course.”

-

If he thought the weather in San Francisco was annoying, it was nothing compared to English weather. At least in California, he can drive two hours East to find warmth. England was doom and gloom all around. Except for the people. They aren’t overly happy people, thank God, but if the Blitz couldn’t make a dent in morale then nothing would. In any event, the attacks were back in ’41 so Tony isn’t expecting a fire to rain from the sky any time too soon.

The hotel he’s found to stay in is nice. It doesn’t remind him too much about the room he would rent with Steve, but it’s a hotel room and that’s enough to send his mind there in the first place. 

He lays on the starched sheets of the bed, finding them cold and stiff and he misses the sheets of their motel dearly. He pulls the phone from the nightstand, pulling some of the cord along for less yield. 

Trying to remember everything about Steve’s work proves hard, to a very frustrating degree. It’s not because of time spent apart, almost seven months now, or time spent without any word, four months, but because they were too busy trying to think about anything else but work for the months that they were together. 

The phone is silent, which is to be expected at times of war. So he hangs up and tries again and again until it works. This time, a low dial tone buzzes in his ear. He sticks his finger into the ‘dial’ circle and drags it around to the ‘stop’. Next, he dials ‘O’.

He thought Steve was just playing that silly Captain America character for propaganda, but now he’s suspecting that there was something more to it. He’s really regretting not asking about it now. 

But he knows someone he _can_ ask.

“Operator, please connect me to Director Nicholas Fury.” 

-

_Steve_

_Pepper’s been nagging me all day to tell you that she says hello. So obviously this takes precedent._

_Pepper says hello._

_Other than that, what can I say? Do I miss you? Of course, I do. I know you miss me, don’t feel the need to say anything. Where are you headed? ‘Italy’ is so vague. I can’t help but think of rats escaping a sinking ship, now that they’re “on our side”. I know, I know, I can hear you over the ocean telling me to give people the benefit of the doubt. After all, they deposed Mussolini._

_You hold all of my morals in your hands, Steve. You’re a good man. The little angel on my shoulder. Am I the devil on yours?_

_Talking to people all day makes me want to rip my guts out. I find myself rather intolerable to their ignorance of how I should conduct myself in their presence. Can you believe it? What would the papers say? ‘Tony Stark, in a Fit of Pique, Rips Guts Out All Over Poor Navy Generals’. The scandal!_

_You’re the only military man I could ever share my true thoughts with, aren’t you? You at least would let me tell my shitty jokes._

_Consider sending me whatever coordinates you can? I am eager to reach wherever you are._

_Tony Stark, July 1943_

_P.s. (Rhodey told me this one, he really likes it) Here’s a shitty joke for you: You can take a sailor out of the navy but you'll never get the seaman out of him._

_-_

_S.G. Rogers_

_Remember when we first met? I’ve been thinking about it a lot these past few weeks. I’d give an arm and a leg to see you again. Even for just a second, it would be worth it. I’d need crutches, and you’d laugh at how ridiculous I am._

_I hope I didn’t scare you away with my last letter. Things have been… tough, over here._

_I’ve heard of resistance efforts in Italy by the common people. They got tired of their government waiting to act against the Nazi’s holed up in their towns. Good for them. Good for you. Please be safe. Please write me when you can._

_Tony S. August 1943_

-

_Do you ever get the feeling that your words fall on deaf ears? I find myself aching for meaningful conversations, but you’re not here. No one gets me quite like you do, Steve. Pepper’s planned a flight for England, and an armistice has been declared in Italy. Now’s your last chance, clue me in where you are or I’ll have to go over there and find out for myself. And if it turns out I’ve been tracking a ghost- well, good luck to you._

_Ever yours,_

_Tony. September 1943_

-

Back before the war first began, Steve was training in Hawaii. He was introduced to the serum formula there and had begun training with Dr. Erskine. After Pearl Harbor was attacked, he was moved to a secure facility in Florida. Back then, he couldn’t image cameras being shoved in his face for propaganda. Didn’t see the need, really. The training for his Naval Combat Demolition Units was tough but ultimately classified. Sometimes, in the early days, Steve felt like a glorified map-maker. Sure, a map maker that saved lives, but ultimately he saw little action. Until, of course, he got to mark and blow up his first underwater mine. That was a rush. When the allied forces perform amphibious landings, they prefer the enemies defenses to be to be thoroughly mapped and underwater threats removed. Steve very much liked being a part of the NCDU.

But after Erskine was killed Steve was forgotten. Erskine's vision of a good soldier, bastardized into propaganda films. His file is filled with enough red tape to wrap around the coastline of Florida, twice. He is quite literally at the mercy of the United States government.

He misses Tony. Very much. Were he here, he would probably tell him how ridiculous Washington bureaucrats are to have let his talents go to waste for so long. 

Now that he’s back in service, Steve thought he would be content. Something nibbles at the back of his head daily, a thought driving him that he would like to be somewhere other than where he was now. But the rest of his brain is screaming at him to enjoy what he’s doing. And he does enjoy it, he does. Maybe it’s some sadistic part of him, knowing that his actions would be leading to the deaths of hundreds, maybe thousands, and he takes pleasure in it. 

When Germany had invaded Italy after Mussolini was deposed, they began to deport Jews to death camps. Hundreds of Jews in the Campagna camps had escaped and sought refuge. Locals helped them flee through the mountains, where holy men in Assisi let them take refuge there. Saved them.

Sometimes Steve doesn’t think he’s sadistic enough. Sometimes he even thanks God for each mine he’s sabotaged, each trade route he’s mapped, each bomb he’s placed on the side of a ship, and each Nazi he’s put a bullet in.

It is probably a good thing that he’s never considered becoming a priest. Men of God have no time to wish death upon those who do harm. They protect. And Steve will protect them, too.

How much has he changed since his months of deployment? Will Tony notice?

It’s been months since Steve has heard from him, but Steve is convinced that the letters are simply held behind while he’s deployed. The messages come, sometimes filtered, or don’t come at all. He doesn’t suspect that his own letters have reached their destination either.

The price one pays for secrecy. If he makes it out of this, he’ll owe Tony a lot of wine.

Water seeps through the edge of his mask and he presses his hand against the edge to re-pressurize the mask. Looking up, he can see sunlight just barely visible above the water. He checks his air tank, not that he has to use it that often, but finds the tank half-full. Bucky’s probably pacing on the boat, wondering where he’s gone. Or maybe he’s in the water too. Steve supposed he’s been down in the water long enough, probably around thirty minutes now, and kicks off of the ground to reach the surface some meters above him.

When he eventually reaches the boat, he pulls off the mask and throws it onto the deck. He puts his hands on the edges and Bucky puts his face over the ledge to spot and acknowledge him, and thankfully offers a hand to help him up, “The coastline shouldn’t impede landing. But we have 35 miles of beachfront to cover.”

“They have established artillery amongst planned landing-zones, not to mention a few tanks and machine-gun posts on shore. Covering at least 35 miles of beachfront and five miles inward, and somehow linking with the British 8th Army is a big task. We have Naval fire support, paratroopers, and Peggy’s Commandos holding the mountain passes to Naples.”

“Are we going to expect naval preparatory bombardment?”

“General Clark has ordered against it.”

Steve pauses, his wet shorts sticking halfway down his legs. He slowly pulls one leg from his pants, “Okay.” He pauses again, anger licking at the water running off his body, “Has he learned nothing from the Pacific Theatre?” He shakes his legs free from the pants and hangs them over the side of the boat, “This is going to cause a crisis. See if you can signal to the others to return. I’ll redraw the map.”

Bucky looks worried, but he trusts Steve. This fact causes his nerves to feel frayed. He grabs Bucky by the forearm, “We’ll be okay, Buck.”

Their eyes meet, and whatever Bucky sees there seems to be enough. He nods, “Til the end of the line.”

“Til the end of the line.” He repeats.

-

“Mr. Stark.”

She’s very tall, but in heels, she’s even taller than him and very beautiful. There’s an intelligence in her eyes that Tony respects, so he shakes her hand. Her grip is strong, too. Her hair is also red, and Tony wonders why all the women in his life seem so similar, “You must be Natasha.”

“I am. We are here to escort you to the base for your meeting with Director Fury.”

There’s a man who sits in the driver’s seat of the black car who turns and makes a half-saluting motion with his hand. Under his cap is a mess of blonde hair and grey eyes that look right through him, then glance at Natasha, “I’m Clint.” he says, and looks back at the road.

“I’m rather surprised you’re Americans.” He comments as he holds the door open for Natasha and then follows her inside.

“Well, S.H.I.E.L.D. is an English _and_ American organization.”

Clint pulls away from the curb, and Tony wonders how he can even make sense of driving on the opposite side of the road. Perhaps they’ve been here longer than he has.

“Any chance I can meet Peggy Carter while we’re there?”

Clint’s eyes meet Natasha’s eyes in the mirror, and Tony thinks they’re trying to be obvious. Well, Natasha is. She sits relaxed in her chair, one leg crossed over the other and her arm on the top of the seat behind Tony’s back. Tony sees a gun poking out from where her jacket opens, “She’s deployed.”

“Ah. Shame, I was hoping she’d sign the flag I bought at the hotel gift shop. My dad’s a big fan.” They exit city limits. No turning back.

Natasha tilts her head to him and smiles. Her lipstick is spread evenly across her lips, and her eyes sharpen and pin him with their intensity, “Don’t worry, Mr. Stark. You have no reason to be nervous.”

_She’s lying._

He feels the hairs on the back of his neck raise and recognizes that this is a rather dangerous position he’s put himself in. She knows that he knows she’s lying. And that’s the bloody point.

“Fury has some questions for you before you’re allowed in the facility.” 

Clint pulls over to the side of the dirt road. She reaches into her pocket, and Tony’s whole body goes rigid. In milliseconds, his brain tries to figure out how to protect itself. Grab the gun? Dive out of the car? Fight _in_ the car? His eyes flash to Clint’s and something heavy is placed in his lap.

He looks down and finds a stack of letters wrapped with twine. It’s a couple inches thick, maybe thirty or so letters. Reading carefully, he makes out his name. To the right of his name is Steve’s.

“Tell us about your relationship with Steve Rogers.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NCDU - Naval Combat Demolition Units, this is Steve's official job. They didn't have Navy Seals in WW2, so this group was the precursor. To take from wiki: "the Navy needed a group of specialists to destroy obstacles, man-made or natural, for amphibious landings. In late 1942, a group of Navy salvage personnel received a one-week concentrated course on demolitions, explosive cable cutting, and commando raiding techniques... As the U.S. Navy's elite combat swimmers, they were employed to breach the cables and nets protecting enemy harbors, plant limpet mines on enemy ships, and locate and mark mines for clearing by minesweepers. They also conducted river surveys and foreign military training." They were really, really cool.  
> The operation Steve is prepping for is Operation Avalanche. At this time in history (September '43) Mussolini has been deposed, but the occupying German forces still had control over sections of Italy. Germans captured Italian soldiers and either interred them or gave them an option to fight for Germany. Around 94,000 Italians signed up to back the Germans, but 710,000 chose imprisonment. During this time, Italian citizens and soldiers began their own resistance efforts against German forces, which were actually incredibly effective. This operation was one of the first pushes that forced the Nazi army to the north, towards Sicily. While the Allies won, they lost a LOT of people during this battle.   
> The part about the Assisi priests is true. When Nazi's were sweeping through Italy to deport the Jewish people in the camps there to Auschwitz, they fled and townspeople assisted in their escape to Assisi where they were provided sanctuary.  
> Please let me know what you think so far! <3 Is there anything you would like to see happen or talked about in the story?


End file.
